


handy crafts and crafty hands

by mindyfication



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s10e22 The Prisoner, F/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-11-02 22:01:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10953582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mindyfication/pseuds/mindyfication
Summary: an if-only for if Sam and Rowena's partnership had been more fruitful





	handy crafts and crafty hands

Sam empties an entire clip of devil’s trap bullets into Crowley, this wasn’t going to be Abaddon 2.0 do it yourself internal retrieval. After everything he did, Sam wasn’t leaving anything up to chance. 

“Bit of overkill there Moose. I liked the days better when you lot summoned me.” 

“And I’ll like it better once you’re dead.” Sam puts the hex bag in his pocket, “She said she should have taken the three pigs.” 

Crowley’s eyes flash red, “Mother. What does she have on you-”

“Nothing.” Sam stabs him, twisting the blade as his life force flashes and cracks out of existence. He takes a vial of blood and burns the body. Good fucking riddance. 

.

Rowena is contemplating, code and book of the damned before her. She’s already read the bit about removing the mark, and a dozen more interesting and far more useful spells. From the first ingredient she knew they weren’t going to do it- torturing a dozen of the purest souls would make even the angel boy balk. The overly literal angel has grown fond of staring at her suspiciously, as though she might pop out of her chains at any moment. 

But once Crowley is dead, hell will be in need of a ruler once more. It’s a tempting position for herself, to grab the power by her very fingertips. But she knows how quickly kings and queens are killed, has not lived this long to grow stupidly gluttonous. There were whispers of the younger Winchester once being destined to lead a demon army, to reconquer the earth and below. This time though, Rowena has proper leverage, knows Sam will be willing to do anything to himself to save his brother. (Or at least temper him.) It’s an absolutely delicious plan. It’ll be even better than watching the lad bleed himself, of him letting her help push the blood out. 

She crosses her legs, that memory always makes her nethers quiver. Castiel’s nose twitches, and she giggles into the book of the damned, turns to a new page. It’s a deteriorating curse, to watch your enemies slowly die over a decade. She flips to another page- who had that kind of patience these days, certainly not her. A bloodline repulsion curse is more interesting, but the ingredients call for a better spell. As if she was going to waste that much griffin dust on a targeted modified emotions curse. 

The door creaks open, and Sam’s back, swiftly walking before her desk. “Have you read it?” 

Rowena rolls her eyes. He’s a pretty one, and often sharp, but he has all the elegance of an oversized-

“Rowena!” 

“Aye, and what of Fergus?” 

He sets a vial of blood down, “He’s dead, that’s all that’s left of his vessel. Happy mother’s day.” 

Even with the cuffs on she can get a muted feel off the blood, and he isn’t lying. He definitely has no clue what can be done with this, and she pockets it. Demons get impatient, there’s only a week or so that the blood will hold any value. But for now, she couldn’t craft a more perfect key to the kingdom. It very well might be the best thing her son’s ever done for her. Castiel comes over then, talking to Sam in hushed tones. She hears _Dean_ and _promise_ and _check_ and _Dean_ again. They come to some agreement, and Castiel poofs away. 

Sam drags a chair over, sits opposite her. “Now tell me how to remove the mark.”

Rowena frowns carefully, “You dinna want this-”

Sam slaps a hand down, “Don’t. Just tell me the damn ingredients.” 

She purses her lips, “Fine, but don’t get yer knickers all twisted when ya don’t like them.” 

Sam huffs out a breath, but he looks a little more reasonable and Rowena starts with the first ingredient. “A dozen souls stole from heaven, tortured ‘til they no longer believe from where they came.” 

“Fuck,” Sam hisses, rubbing his eyes. 

“D’ya want me to keep going?” she asks, hoping he’ll just say no and they can move onto her superior plan. 

He lets out a bitter laugh, “What the hell, what’s the second?” 

The second item is just unicorn blood, but that’s too easy to come by. Rowena’s lips curl up, “A golden fiddle crafted by the devil-”

Sam’s head snaps up, eyes wide as he interrupts, “I have one of those.” 

She raises an eyebrow and continues, “And played well enough to make the devil himself weep, the strings to be soaked in his tears.” 

Sam sighs, reaching for the book. “I’ll figure something else out.” 

Rowena lays her hands over his, “I already have.” 

Sam snorts, “And let me guess, you just need another magical artifact you shouldn’t be allowed thirty feet near.” 

“Oh you wound me Samuel,” she says, can’t help but notice the lad hasn’t pulled his hands out from under hers yet. 

“Well?” he asks after a silent beat. 

She smiles, “I’ve already begun it. I will become the queen of hell, and as such I can simply tell Dean to stop.”

Sam yanks his hands away then, “Pretty sure if that would work, Crowley would have leashed Dean from the start.” 

Rowena shrugs, “It’s a more arcane spell, I wouldn’t expect him to know of it. He ran hell like a business. Those who conquer can demand obedience from all demonkind, past and present.” 

“Past,” Sam says slowly. “You’re talking about necromancy.” 

“Aye-”

“That’s not an option-”

Rowena laughs, can’t help it. “For someone who’s been brought back ta life a dozen times, I wouldn’t think that’s a problem.” 

“You’re sure it would work?” 

“It’s a binding spell with hell itself, there may be some wee side effects but it _will_ work.” 

“You’re not going to become queen-”

“Why I never, after all I’ve done for ye and yer-”

“I’ll do it.” 

Rowena bites her lips hard, can’t let her smile blossom too much. “You think they’ll follow ya after you left them high and dry last time?” 

Sam’s eyes flash, “You had a plan. No one in hell would easily accept Crowley’s witch mom replacing him. What is it?” 

Rowena sighs, rubbing at her wrists. “I shant help you again while being tied up like some mongrel.” 

Sam licks his lips, and then he’s leaning forward, just like that undoing her cuffs. He’s more desperate than before, something’s happened and she’s damn curious. 

“I want brunch,” she declares finally free again. “I know a lovely little Parisian cafe, it’s private we can talk there.” 

And before Sam can say a single word, she has a hand on his arm and teleports them. They land perfectly at her regular table, and not a soul around them blinks. 

Sam’s eyes are wide as he looks around his new surroundings, quietly hissing, “Rowena what did you do-”

“Mademoiselle,” her waitress greets cheerily. “Would you like your usual? We have many mozer’s day specials. Your companion iz not-?” 

Rowena laughs airily, “No, no. Business brunch.” 

Gabrielle’s eyes sparkle, bringing out her sotto voice, “But he iz a pretty one, mais oui?” 

Sam’s cheeks go faint pink, adorably so. She’s sure she’s reaching the end of his quiet patience, she did love public spaces and silly hunters who couldn’t recognize the signs of burning sage. 

“The traveler's platter m’dear.” 

Gabrielle leaves, fingers trailing over the back of Rowena’s shoulders- she never did like hearing the word no. Waitress gone, Sam’s fake smile drops. 

He leans over the table, “I can’t believe you teleported us to _France_! How do you expect me to trust you when that’s the first thing-”

“Oh hush Samuel,” Rowena says, sliding her bag over to him. “There. You have the books now so calm down.” 

He looks a little mollified, placing the bag between his feet. “How are we supposed to talk here? Anyone could overhear us.” 

She waves a hand over the table’s candle, revealing a bunch of sage burning before hiding it once more. “See? Now, with Crowley’s blood a new crown can be forged. A crown of ascension can not be challenged but by single combat.” Her lips curl up, “Now _I_ could very easily smite any demon who dared try and take my seat-”

“No,” Sam interrupts. “I won’t let you have that kind of power over Dean.” 

Rowena sighs delicately. “If you insist. I doubt you want to enhance either of the powers in you-”

Sam looks at her sharply at that, “Either?” 

Rowena cocks her head, “Why darlin’ don’t ya know what’s in yer veins?” 

Sam doesn’t answer and Gabrielle comes back then, sets a mimosa before each of them and a pitcher in the table’s center. 

“Iz ‘ere anything else I can acquire for zee?” She asks, not even looking at Sam, and Rowena can’t help an indulgent smile at his huff. 

“No thank you, c’est bon.” 

She goes to another table and Sam clearly isn’t going to ask what he wants to know. “You still have traces of angelic grace in you. I doubt ye want to augment that. And then there’s the demon blood.”

Sam pales, “No. I never finished- _no_.” 

Rowena shrugs, sipping her drink. “Then the demons will rip you apart.”

“There has to be another way, I’ll find something.” 

“And if you don’t?” she asks. 

Sam’s lips thin, voice firmer, “I’ll find something.” 

She doesn’t mention the time frame again, doesn’t want to push him too hard. They drink in silence, Rowena idly eavesdropping on the surrounding tables. Gabrielle comes back, setting the brunch platter between them. It’s piled high with ordinary continental breakfast items and finger sandwiches. 

“Am I to join?” the waitress asks, twirling her hair. “Avec toi, sous la table?” 

Rowena barely holds back a sigh, her lips twisted into a tight smile. “I said business lass.”

She leaves with a petulant little spin, and Rowena’s reminded again of that disgusting, and unfortunately true, phrase about not defecating where you eat. Rowena goes for the small pancakes and syrup, simplicity would do for today. 

“What was that?” Sam asks. 

“Her and I, we ah, tend to engage in a gayer brunch.” 

Sam’s eyebrows come together, and she continues less delicately, “Eating each-”

“Got it!” Sam interrupts, cheeks dark again. “Wait, that’s it.” 

Rowena raises an eyebrow, “If ya want to get in Gab’s knickers yer gonna need different-”

“No,” Sam exclaims, eyes bright. “Sex. Sex magic can create a protective barrier and then I can just stab any demon.” 

“Aye, it can protect ya from demonic influence,” Rowena says slowly. “But that won’t promise a win. Just even the playin’ field.” 

“Close enough,” Sam says. “How long will the crown take to make?” 

“A day,” she answers. “It isn’t constant work. We’ll do yer armor spells ‘tween steps.”

Sam takes a deep breath, “Yeah, okay.”

Rowena smiles, leans forward to take his hand, “Told ye I’d find a way to save your brother.”

She teleports them back to the states, could sing for it. Sex magic meant emotional residue, and the new king of hell was exactly the type of person she wanted subconsciously keeping her safe. It wasn’t as surefire as Sam naming Dean his champion- between being soulmates and their infamy Rowena’s sure it would have worked. But then Dean would have turned back to demon faster and Rowena wouldn’t have a place at Sam’s new table. No, far better to risk it all for something glorious, to have decadence and power with her safety. And the sex would be icing on the cake, she’s been wanting a new lover.


End file.
